A Day In The Life of a Git
by thenotsofabulouskilljoy
Summary: Arthur wakes up on a dreary Saturday morning, cut from a wonderful dream about his gorgeous barber. How will he react when he has to face Francis? FrUk one-shot


_His cheeks flush a scarlet colour matching the bouquet of fine roses in his hands. The man tucks a stray piece of golden hair behind his ear and clears his throat.  
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_It was everything he'd ever wanted in life. Francis clears his throat and Arthur shifts nervously, looking at the stylist in a haze.  
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_"What's the meaning of this?"  
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_His question is met with a gentle smile, "Beep!"_

_"Wh-what?" The man's brows furrow._

_"Beep! Beep! Beep!"_

Beep! Arthur jolts awake and sits upright, eyes scouring the room until his gaze lands on the little box beside him. The grey machine sits haphazardly on the edge of his nightstand and the shrill noise nearly makes his ears ache. A snarl forms on his face and he snatches it off, thereby unplugging the cursed thing, and flings it out the open door. It sails with an odd grace through the morning air before slamming and breaking against the wall outside.

"Serves the bloody thing right.." Arthur Kirkland, a star journalist and British gentleman, was not one to be trifled with in the mornings. The usual scowl of annoyance settles onto his face as he goes about moving around his room.

Thank his lucky stars above it was a weekend. That meant no obligations, no responsibilities, and no headaches. Arthur fits on his jeans, having to wiggle a bit to do so thanks to the extra biscuits lately, and tugs on a plain black shirt. His bangs fall into his eyes and he flips his head to move it. Perhaps a haircut was in order.

A quick check of his wallet validates the case and he quickly finishes dressing before brewing a small pot of coffee. His hands were already shaking from the lack of caffeine, a terrible sign for the start of his day.

The blond sighs as he slides into his car, settles his mug into the holster, and starts down the road. His hand slides up to rub his eyes blearily. The only decent hairdresser in town was the snobbiest Frenchman he ever had the displeasure of meeting. All wine and laughs and love; yet no seriousness to compensate. And if it was on the rare occasion of seriousness it was always over aesthetically pleasing individuals.

He huffs and honks at a particularly slow driver in impatience. There was no time for such lollygagging! His schedule was free but spending an hour in traffic was not his ideal picture for a Saturday morning. Arthur would much rather be wrapped up, kisses scattered acr—..

No. Not another fantasy with that disgusting Frog. He shoves the thought into the recesses of his mind and turns up the radio to distract himself.

He pulls into a parking space not too long after that and slides out. His jacket does little to deflect the cutting wind around him. Arthur scampers across the parking lot before he's welcomed in by the warm air of the barber shop. Temperatures had been dropping as of late as it gradually approaches the winter season, making it an effort to do much of anything outdoors.

"Bonjour! Comment puis-je vous aider?" The silky voice of his dreams envelops him like a fine velvet, making the British man swallow as he slides out of his jacket and hangs it neatly over his arm.

"Stop that damnable frog speech and use proper English when addressing me." His tone is foul per usual and Francis takes it with a grain of salt. The stylist shoots a charming smile and pushes him into a chair before taking the garment from him.

"Grossier comme d'habitude? Je m'excuse, Arthur." He elder snorts with a light laugh, tying the white strip around his neck and pulling over the great plastic covering. "The usual cut, monsieur?"

He sighs briskly and frowns at the man in the mirror. "Of course, you git."

"And perhaps your eyebrows too this time?" Francis rears back with a booming laugh, the nasally sound travelling the empty shop as Arthur grows increasingly red in the face.

"I-I'll have you know I'm perfectly content with my eyebrows! They're all natural!" He fibs with ease, huffing. "I have half a mind to stab you with these cutting scissors."

"Oh now, mon amour~.." He squeezes the man's shoulders teasingly. "It's just a joke! Lighten up some, maybe you'd be as lovable as that darling little Alfred that comes in here."

"To hell with you all!" He grunts, blowing his hair out of his face angrily. "I don't pay you to talk to me, I pay for a haircut."

The elder male frowns as he leans over and grabs the squirt bottle. He sprays Arthur's hair lightly, hooking it on his apron and grabbing the cutting scissors. "How mean! Do you not like me? Everyone loves me, I'm charming and romantic!" A pout forms on his lips.

"You're a bloody fool." Arthur spits out back in reply, watching his every move in the mirror. It'd be a shame if he had to castrate his barber over a bad hair cut.

Francis smiles and begins snipping the dead ends of his hair, humming to the tune playing over the speakers in the corners. Most times it was a pop playlist of songs he had heard on the radio but on slower days, like this one, he opted for the songs that reminded him of home.

He sways his hips gently to the beat, murmuring the lyrics under his breath in a deep baritone that nearly makes Arthur swoon in his seat. He winces at a particularly hard tug and rolls his eyes at the smooth apology, not correcting the French.

Francis glances at his customer in the mirror and strokes his chin. "How about a new look. Perhaps a spunky side-buzz? Highlights? A full-dye?" He grins at Arthur.

"No, thank you. I'll have the same as always." He shows no appreciation for the joke and winces as he uses the razor cutters to smooth the cut. His face twists into a wince as the back and sides are slowly but surely finished. All that was left were his bangs.

The blond moves around to the front and holds a hand over his eyes to wet his bangs, combing through them quickly before snipping away the ends. Arthur watches his concentrated face closely, the tops of his cheeks flush pink, the change not going unnoticed by his hairdresser.

"Oh, what's wrong? You're blushing, Arthur. Don't tell me I'm making you flustered." He teases, swiping a bit of cut hair away with his thumb.

"D-Don't be ridiculous, git. As if I'd be bothered over a frog like you!"

"Non! Of course not." Francis giggles and used the razor cutters once more to even out his hair. "What a ridiculous notion!" His rosy lips twitch into a smile and he holds up a mirror for him to see the back, waiting for his approval.

Arthur nods and eyes the cut with a critical eye. "It looks decent, not that I expected any better." He turns his nose in the air and hands back the mirror as France begins blow-drying his hair, tousling the short blond locks gently.

The plastic cover is removed and Francis blows away the extra hair, brushing his shoulders mostly clean. He moves wordlessly to the counter and pauses as he prints the receipt, shoving the money in the register. his pen flicks across the paper and he smirks as he folds it and hands it back.

Arthur, ever suspicious but still wanting to maintain his dignity, snatches the receipt and heads to his car with his jacket tight around him once more. He slides into the small car and flips open the receipt.

On the paper was a fancy scrawl of Francis' number, making his face burn pink in realization.

"Stupid git.."


End file.
